Ceasefire
by rosieth
Summary: John, Sarah and Sherlock are going on a date-thing, as John calls it. But Sherlock is up to something. With help, he surprises John and Sarah. How will John react? Can his relationship with Sarah survive? Sequel to "It's Like Warfare." Enjoy? perhaps.
1. The Last Dance

AN: This is a sequel of It' s Like Warfare. Not necessary to have read it to understand this, but I would obviously appreciate it if you did. This is the 2nd fic of what I plan to be a 3 part series. Part 1 was from Sarah's view as she comes to terms with the inevitable conclusion of her relationship with John. This part will be John's realisation that he no longer has strong feelings for the person he thought he did. The final part will be Sherlock's celebrating winning over John's heart. I hope you enjoy this and I hope the plot bunnies are satisfied for a little while. This is chapter 1 of 3. Love Rose.

"For God's sake Sherlock, I said I'd be at Sarah's place 20 minutes ago. Why the hell aren't you ready to go?"

John could feel himself getting stressed, his hands clenching as a safe release for his anger and frustration. Was it really too much to ask for someone to be ready on time just once? Especially when they were tagging along on what was supposed to be a date.

"I didn't know what to wear. What do you think?"

That was a pathetic excuse, John mused. He let out an exasperated sigh as he looked up the stairs to survey Sherlock's chosen outfit. He felt his jaw drop in astonishment. Sherlock frowned at him

"No good?"

John tried to correct his slack jawed expression as he double checked what he was seeing to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Is that one of _my_ sweaters?"

He winced internally as he heard the harsh disbelieving tone in his voice. Sherlock nodded, his face completely serious.

"Yes. I'm surprised it fits to be honest. I though the sleeves might be too short for me, because of the height difference. Should I change?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and his eyes crinkled with the inquiry. The honest answer would be yes, but there was no time. John shook his head.

"Too late, there's no time. We'll be luck to make it to the play as it is."

There was that bloody frown again.

"But if there was time, then you would suggest I change?"

The query floated down the stairs. John sighed. This was taking up time.

"Correct. But there isn't time, so come down the stairs and lets go."

John waved his arm in a sweeping motion, to emphasise his desire to get on their way.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

This was really starting to grate on him now and he let the frustration show through in his voice. No doubt Sherlock would have noticed anyway, so there was no point in trying to hide it.

"What do you think I mean? I mean what I said. No."

John grimaced. He made a show out of looking at his watch and tapping his feet. Deduce how I'm feeling right now Sherlock, he thought. It was times like these that John felt simultaneously very old and very young. Old because he felt like he was behaving like a father would to a disobedient son, young because he knew that he was also sinking down into Sherlock's immaturity. Pull yourself together John, last thing you need is the two of you throwing a tantrum and ruining all chances of a good night.

"There isn't time for this Sherlock. Just get down here so we can go."

His voice was increasing in volume, despite the words being spoken through gritted teeth. This was just great. Yet another argument for the neighbours to complain about.

"I'm not going anywhere if you think I look stupid."

John was taken aback. He hadn't thought that Sherlock would actually care what John's opinion on his appearance was. He didn't think Sherlock cared what anyone thought of him, in any aspect of his life. Oh, now he was staring at him with those eyes. Like he is all injured and vulnerable. Damn it.

"I don't think you look stupid Sherlock. It's just that I'm not used to seeing you in something so..."

His voice trailed off as he realised he didn't know what he was going to say.

"Something so John?"

Jesus, why did he say that? What the hell was possessing him tonight?

"Something so John? Was does that even mean?"

Oh bloody hell, it was puppy dog eyes time now. What did he have to do to get him to quit dawdling and just go?

"Well, I think of you whenever I see a sweater like this. I thought maybe I'd try one out and see if I looked as good in one."

John's first thought was that it was a sweet comment to make. His second was a little flutter of joy when he realised that something 'John' was a good thing. It was something that Sherlock liked. He would never admit it to Sarah, even when she had asked him directly, but half the reason he wore those sweaters was because Sherlock had complimented him on them once. But now he was letting Sherlock distract him. Maybe that was Sherlock's plan. Distract him, so that he never got to catch up with Sarah. He would not put sabotaging a date past Sherlock.

"Going out on a date-thing isn't the best time to experiment with clothing style Sherlock. Next time, we'll go shopping and you can just try things on."

Sherlock gave him a look that shouted 'boring'. Looking at his watch, John realised that another 10 minutes had passed since the conversation had started. He felt the irritation building to near breaking point. Wait, he thought, had he just called this a date-thing?

"Sherlock, you know I hate to beg but we really should leave now. We were supposed to have dinner before we went, but there is absolutely no way we can fit that in now. So will you come on?"

John was pleading with his eyes now. Why did Sherlock love to make him dance through such stupid hoops? More to the point, he thought to himself, why do I let him? Sherlock was looking directly at him, probably trying to probe John's mind to detect any hint of deceit. Finally, after about 30 seconds, he started down the stairs. It was about bloody time things started to go smoothly, John thought. It was at that moment that Mrs. Hudson opened her door. Was she just waiting for the most inopportune time to leave?

"Going out are we boys?"

No, we've dressed like this because we thought we'd come visit you, John thought, before scolding himself for thinking such rude thoughts. She has been very good to us, don't you go being mean to her even if it is in your head, he told himself firmly. The landlady's voice said that she already knew exactly what they were doing.

"Yes. We going to see a garden performance of Romeo and Juliet."

Sherlock's answer was bright and cheerful. John could only describe the tone as happy. It was probably because there was a double suicide at the end of the play. There weren't many other occasions that John could remember being able to describe Sherlock as sounding happy.

"Oh, that sounds lovely. It'll be nice and romantic for you dears."

She gave the sort of smile that only comes from thinking you've figured out something secret. John had a bad feeling about this. There was something secret going on that he didn't know about. He should be used to that feeling by now, but this was slightly different. This time it wasn't just John and Sherlock involved. Clearly etched in John's mind were the memories of the last time Sherlock had known something a little extra on a group d...outing. A group outing, John, Sherlock isn't a part of the date. Yet there was that little bit in the back of his mind that was questioning why Sherlock was there then.

"It isn't a date."

Oh god, he had said that out loud, hadn't he. Again. Why did he do it? All it ever seemed to accomplish was people thinking it was simply some kind of secret date. John wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Hudson thought Sarah was actually his sister. Not that he could blame her, for they weren't one of those very public couples who made sure everyone knew they were together, hanging off each other at every moment. He also spent more time with Sherlock than anyone else and he couldn't think of anyone whom Sherlock willing spent time with other than himself.

"Of course it isn't dear."

But the tone of voice was conspiratorial and she actually winked at him as she disappeared back into her own flat. Sherlock's phone went off, indicating he had received a message. John watched as he checked it, a smile appearing on Sherlock's face for a short moment, before the tall man marched straight out the door.

"Are you coming? We don't want to keep her waiting any longer!"

The brightness of his voice left John feeling even more suspicious, but he nearly ran out the door after him, so that he wouldn't have time to change his mind and decide he had to swap outfits. In the five seconds it had taken John to follow, Sherlock had already succeeded in hailing a cab and was in the process of sliding in. John hurried to follow as he checked his watch one final time. He had barely shut the door before the cab sped off towards its ordered destination, which John prayed was Sarah's place. He really wouldn't put it past Sherlock to have directed the driver to go straight to the park.

"I hope you behave yourself tonight Sherlock. I really don't want a repeat of last week."

Sherlock gave him a cheeky grin that reminded John of a child who had been told they could only have one piece of chocolate before they took half the block.

"A repeat of what? The dinner or the football?"

John gave an audible groan as he reflected on both occasions. The dinner was referring to previous weekend, when Sarah had come over to cook them dinner. It had been very kind of her, but Sherlock had insisted on being rude and disagreeable towards her the entire night. John had yelled at him the following day for being so unappreciative, partly to vent his own guilt at not being able to make the evening run smoothly. Most of that guilt had come when he had woken up the next morning with his head on Sherlock's lap and finding out that Sarah had gone home to sleep in her own bed. Sherlock insisted that he had done nothing to encourage her departure, but John wasn't sure if he believed him. The football had been an utter disaster, in every sense of the word. Sherlock had actually got them thrown out of the venue after he started accusing the opposition's star player of being on performance enhancing drugs whilst within earshot of the supporters. Somehow, he had managed to avoid serious injury, but to John's intense vexation he had been permanently banned from attending events there. He had expressed this to Sherlock, who dismissed his accusations by stating that football was boring and he would manage perfectly fine without it. That may be the case with him, John had thought. But for John, having a lifetime ban from the home ground of his own team was not only embarrassing, but devastating.

"Ideally, neither."

Sherlock shrugged, but the ghost of a grin remained etched on his face as they were driven through the streets of London. John desperately wanted to know what it was that Sherlock wasn't telling him, but there was no use in asking. Sherlock would either refuse to answer, or give some vague statement that could mean just about anything. They traveled the final part of the journey in silence, John feeling overwhelming relieved when they stopped outside Sarah's apartment. John stepped out of the car and moved to shut the door behind him, but Sherlock blocked him.

"You're coming too?"

He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. There was that damned smile again.

"Of course."

John gave a resigned sigh as he led the way up to Sarah's apartment. He rang the doorbell and waited, desperately trying to think of some excuse for their tardiness. He heard movement and scrabbling, as though someone was having trouble with a door chain. Sarah opened the door wearing a thick coat that stopped just above her knees. It reminded him of Sherlock's trademark coat, only slightly feminised. John opened his mouth to blurt out some lame apology but Sarah spoke before he got the chance to get anything out.

"It's Okay. I got Sherlock's text. It's a good thing it wasn't raining or you two could have been soaked waiting for the tyre to be changed."

Somehow, John managed to suppress the how utterly confounded he was. Why the hell had Sherlock texted Sarah, and told her such a lie? Surely he didn't care about hurting her feelings. Unless it was to save John from being embarrassed because of him, yet again. Well, whatever the reason was, he wasn't about to contradict Sarah. The coat looked so similar to Sherlock's that he had an urge to reach out and touch it, to compare how the material felt, but managed to stop himself. His arm merely twitched and Sarah seemed not to have noticed. The same could not be said for Sherlock, who unfortunately had definitely noticed. He was wearing that same knowing smile that Mrs. Hudson had entertained just before they had left. The idea of telling Sherlock about the resemblance played on his mind for a second, but he dismissed it. No need to get the night off to a worse start than it already had. Sherlock's expression changed to one of mock pain.

"That hurt, John."

That bastard, John thought, as Sherlock clutched at his heart theatrically. Honestly, sometimes he could really be so childish.

"Not my fault. You shouldn't try to deduce what I'm thinking."

Score one to John, he thought. He was very pleased with his quick comeback, even if it did make him sound a little juvenile. It was at that point that John's stomach made a loud rumbling noise and he realised he was starving. Unfortunately, he would now have to wait until after Romeo and Juliet to eat. Of course, if they didn't leave soon then they would miss the play too.

"Ok, time to go. Quickly, quickly down the stairs. The cab is waiting. Onwards we go."

He felt like a bit of an idiot, as he herded his two companion's down the stairs into the waiting cab. He looked at his watch yet again, noting that they had twenty minutes until the first act was scheduled to start.

"I hope you know all the shortcuts Mr Cab Driver, because we are running very late."

Mr Cab Driver? John had winced internally as soon as he said. It made him sound like he was five years old. The driver gave a simple nod in return.

"Same destination that you gave me in Baker Street?"

The cabbie had directed the question at Sherlock, who gave a solitary nod in acknowledgment. With that, the cab pulled out from the sidewalk and drove off into the night.


	2. The Last Stand

AN: I forgot to thank LollyMc for her lovely comments on some of my other fics. If you haven't checked her out, I suggest you do, because her work is amazing. I left 6 reviews on one fic because it was that good. This chapter 2 of 3. Three should be up soon, i'm almost finished writing it. Love Rose.

As they neared the park, John was surprised to see very few cars parked along the side of the road. Surely more people would have driven their own cars to the performance than this. Looking down the road at the distant park, he also observed that there was little lighting. This didn't seem right. The cab pulled up at the park and John was shocked to see a small dining table, covered in a crisp white tablecloth at the edge of the park. It was set for three, with a candle flickering away as decoration. John looked at Sarah, whose face mirrored his astonishment. He shifted his gaze to Sherlock, who simply smiled.

"Garden performance got canceled due to all the actors coming down with a nasty case of influenza. I thought this might be romantic, but I had to organise it all at the last minute. You might have noticed me stalling for time."

John couldn't believe it. Sherlock had actually put effort into trying to be make the evening romantic. It seemed a little strange, but he appreciated the exertions.

"You planned all this? _And _pretended you didn't want to go out wearing one of my sweaters so that, whoever it was, could finish setting this up?"

John waved his arms towards the set up in the park. Sherlock nodded in affirmation.

"I...that's...Thanks. That's actually really thoughtful."

John could hear himself spluttering and tripping over his words as he tried to figure out what to say. It must have been the right thing, because a wide grin spread over the tall man's face.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, you have arrived! Come, sit down. I have made my very best dishes for you tonight."

The voice came from a man who was walking towards the idling cab. John recognised the overweight chef straight away. He'd seen him often enough.

"Angelo? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I am doing? I am cooking for you, and Sherlock, and..."

The chef's voice trailed off as he gestured towards Sarah, who still seemed to be a little bit shell shocked.

"Sarah."

John was slightly taken aback when Sherlock supplied the name. It was unexpected, even if his tone was rather dry. Angelo seized a startled Sarah's hand and began to chatter enthusiastically.

"Sarah! It is Angelo's pleasure to meet you. Sherlock never tells me about his beautiful lady friends!"

John was thankful he hadn't been drinking anything, for he would certainly have choked on it. A strangled sound emitted by Sherlock suggested he felt the same way. John wondered which word was the problem; beautiful, lady, or friend? Did Sherlock normally discuss beautiful male friends? John couldn't picture Sherlock talking to Angelo about anything as personal as friends. It was most likely the term 'friend' that Sherlock took issue to, John concluded. If there was one word that John would never hear Sherlock use to describe Sarah, it would be friend. Sarah was John's friend. Sherlock refused to call her his partner or girlfriend. Usually, he wouldn't even call her by her name, referring to Sarah instead as 'her' or 'that woman' in varying tones of acidity. There was no way that Sarah or Angelo could have missed the sudden asphyxiating sounds, but both were gracious enough to pretend that nothing had happened. Sarah's face had rearranged itself into a pleasant and pretty smile. She let out a laugh that was soft and warm. To someone who didn't know her, such as Angelo, it could easily have been mistaken as genuine. But John knew better. He might not be Sherlock, who could deduce things from a moments observation of a stranger, but John thought he knew enough about Sarah that he could pick if her laughter was authentic or not. Of course, Sherlock would warn him about placing too much emphasis on such subjective data.

"Aren't you going to join us John?"

Sherlock's voice drifted in through his thoughts, snapping him back into reality. John looked around in a way that could only have been described as stupidly. Sherlock gave him a look that John interpreted as meaning _you're an idiot._ John opened his mouth, intending to ask where Sarah had gone, until he realised that she was being assisted into her chair by a transparently 'helpful' Angelo.

"Shameful, isn't it?"

John couldn't tell if Sherlock was being sarcastic or serious, so he just nodded in agreement. Sherlock proffered him a sweater-clad arm.

"Shall we?"

It took every last ounce of self-control that John could muster to stop himself from bursting into laughter at the invitation. He honestly hadn't though that Sherlock had it in him to play the role of gentleman, although if he really thought about it he shouldn't be surprised. He could feel a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his face, that was mirrored on Sherlock's as John grasped the outstretched limb. They must look utterly ridiculous, two men wearing sweaters, linking arms whilst heading over to a candle-lit dining table in the middle of a public park. Upon reaching the table, Sherlock pulled out John's chair and made a grand sweeping motion with his right arm.

"After you sir."

John had to stifle yet another giggle as Sherlock waited until John sat down before taking his own seat. He wasn't sure what Sherlock was playing at, but he found himself hoping it would continue, if only because it improved their moods.

"We look ridiculous, don't we?"

John wasn't sure if he meant it as a question or a statement, or just his own observation. Sarah answered him, obviously deciding that it was a question.

"A little. I thought it was quite sweet actually."

John nearly fell out of his chair with shock when Sherlock gave Sarah a wide, genuine smile. Even those grey eyes were lit up with emotion. John couldn't remember a time when Sherlock had expressed any kind of feeling other than loathing or impatience towards her. It continued that way as the evening wore on. Sherlock joked, he made small talk. He didn't make any snide or insulting remarks. He acted like a normal person. He even managed to restrain himself to only making a mild jibe when Angelo spilled red wine all over the clean, white tablecloth because he had gotten distracted whilst trying to chat up Sarah. To her credit, Sarah was taking the overt flirting extraordinarily well. Far better than John was. He realised that it wasn't even a jealousy thing, but rather that it was assumed that she was available. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Angelo had concluded about the nature of this group outing date-thing. John realised with a jolt, that in all the times that he and Sherlock had eaten, well, that John had eaten at Angelo's, Sarah had never been mentioned. Not once, even in passing, had the fact that John even had a girlfriend come up. In fact, the only way John could think that Angelo could have found out about Sarah was if he read John's blog. But then, the more he thought about it, the less sure in his conviction he became. How often had he actually mentioned Sarah? He could think of only a few entries, other than the Blind Banker. He wasn't even sure if he had made it clear that it was Sarah that had been his date at the circus. It was because he wanted to protect her privacy, he reassured himself. After all, she was his boss as well as his partner. That was definitely it. What else could it be? John absentmindedly stroked at the table, which felt warm and soft beneath his fingers. It took a few moments before it sunk in that he could sense slender curves, that could not possibly be a covered wooden table. Nor would a table be warm. People were warm. He looked down to see that he was petting a hand. He wondered what kind of moisturiser could make skin so soft. Then again, skin that pale could rarely see the sunlight and oh god, he was stroking Sherlock's hand. He stared as though transfixed at the two hands, his mouth hanging slightly open. How long had he been doing that? He couldn't even remember when he had started. It had all felt so, well, natural. Apprehensively, he looked up to meet those grey eyes which were focused on him.

"Yes John?"

Sherlock had one eyebrow raised quizzically. If it had been anyone else, John would have made up some kind of excuse. But there was no point with Sherlock, because he could read the lie as though it was written all over John's face. Of course, Sherlock would argue that it was. What was written on his face now? Guilt? Confusion? Fear? No, it would be none of them because that wasn't what John was feeling. So what was he feeling? Certainty. That was it. Everything was beginning to make sense now. He just had to look at how he behaved when he was with Sarah compared to when he was with Sherlock. With Sherlock, John never felt bored, or awkward, or out of place. With Sarah, he hated to admit even to himself, but he sometimes felt like there was something lacking. He appreciated how she listened and gave advice, but he always felt like he had to be constantly on his best behaviour. She was still his boss after all, and there are some things you just can't say or do with your boss, even if you are together. He often felt like he had to talk about something, anything to stop them from lapsing into silence. With Sarah, the silence was deafening. But with Sherlock, silence was something that was both acceptable and enjoyable. He could simply appreciate the other man's presence. Sherlock had let him know that he had been of assistance just by being present in the room. He hadn't though of Sherlock as someone who experienced loneliness before then. It was with a pang of guilt that he realised that he would drop everything if Sherlock asked, following him around at a moments notice. Even in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning. Sarah always had to schedule time well in advance, with the possibility of a Sherlock related situation interrupting even the best laid plans.

Then there was tonight's date-thing. _It isn't a date_. Oh shut up, he told his mind. Yet he had called it a date-thing. But he didn't feel like he and Sarah had been on a date tonight. Not because Sherlock was also there, but because Sherlock was _there_. The seating arrangement was one sign that it wasn't Sarah that he was really dating. He had been seated opposite her, the furthest distance possible from him. Sherlock had been seated at his side. John had stared deeply into Sherlock's grey eyes, laughed excessively at his jokes. Oh God, he had even _stolen food from Sherlock's plate_. He had spent the whole night flirting with Sherlock, he mused. There was that silly little affair with Sherlock escorting him to the table, calling him sir and waiting for him to take his seat. There was the childish insults that they had thrown at each other all night. There were the constant touches during conversation, a hand briefly resting on a shoulder, an arm, a hand. Oh yeah, let's not forget the hand John, he said to himself. The soft, warm, pleasant hand. Yes, everything was really beginning to make sense in such a way that John didn't know how he had managed to be so blind for so long. No mention of Sarah in his blog? A blog that was almost entirely about Sherlock? It was all so clear to John now. The tension he often felt when he was in a room with Sarah and Sherlock wasn't because he was worried that Sherlock would upset Sarah. It was that he hated how much it upset Sherlock. There had been no tension tonight because Sherlock was visibly having a great time. John winced as he realised that Sarah had not looked truly happy all night. She had looked like someone who was doing their best to put on a brave, happy mask. The more he thought about, the more astounded he was that she had stayed. Not just stayed tonight, on what he recognised was more a date with Sherlock than anything else. He was amazed that she had stayed with him at all. If someone had treated him like this, he would have been gone a long time ago. He couldn't keep putting her through this. It just wouldn't be fair to anybody here to keep this going on any longer. He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. Avoiding eye contact with Sherlock, he instead spoke directly to Sarah.

"Sarah? Do you think we could have a little chat? In private? It's important."

He hoped his voice hadn't been shaking as much as he thought it was. His legs felt wobbly and his stomach was churning, which was dangerous with such a full stomach. But he had to do this. He had to do this now, whilst he still had the courage. This was the right thing to do, he firmly told himself. He would do what Sarah should have done a long time ago. John was going to break up with Sarah.


	3. The New Beginning

AN: Ok, its 4:30 am and i've finally finished this fic. I started writing it at about just before midday yesterday, so I am very pleased with myself for finishing it with a day. Apologies for any spelling mistakes and grammatical errors.  
Thank you to yogurt for their lovely little review. It makes me smile.  
To TogsTwilightFans, i hope this chapter makes you as happy as your review made me. 3.  
I hope you all like this chapter :) Remember that this is the second fic out of a series of three. I have written an outline for the third fic, which will be titled "Victory March". I will publish it as soon as I have finished writing it. Like this one and "It's Like Warfare", it will be written from one person's point of view, this time it will be Sherlock's. Happy reading! Love Rose.

"I've been expecting it."

John flinched at the response, wincing as though it was causing him physical pain.

"You have?"

John was taken aback, feeling shame creeping up on him. Please don't say yes, tell me that I heard you incorrectly, he prayed.

"To be honest John, I thought it would happen a lot sooner."

He closed his eyes so that she couldn't see the guilt that he felt so desperate to hide.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry."

Would she ever forgive him? He still needed her in his life, she was a valuable friend. She was there for him, to lend an ear when he needed one. That was what had drawn him to her in the first place.

"Don't be."

Sarah was smiling, her face lit with warmth. He could see that she truly meant it.

"There's just two things I'd like to say to you John, before I go."

"Yeah?"

Oh, smooth response John, he scolded himself. It had sounded absolutely pathetic.

"The first thing is, please don't let this get awkward between us. You are a wonderful, talented doctor and a great friend. I need you to keep being that for me."

She paused, as though not sure whether she should go on. So John took it upon himself to prompt her.

"And the second?"

To her credit, she showed no signs of being on the verge of tears and her voice was completely calm and steady.

"Thanks."

The comment threw him, he hadn't expected it.

"For what?"

He knew he had that stupid confused look on his face again. Sarah smile widened and her features softened.

"For the memories."

He stood there, spellbound with admiration for how strong she had been, as she turned and walked toward the street. She gave Sherlock a polite nod as she passed him, where he was still seated at the table. Angelo was trying to pretend he was not watching from his position at a nearby picnic bench, but he quickly and energetically returned the wave that Sarah directed at him. What did he do now, John asked himself? Did he go back to the table and go back to chatting with Sherlock? He wasn't sure if he could do that. It would feel too much like he was pretending that he hadn't just broken up with someone. It didn't seem very polite. It was at that point that Sherlock got up and began to walk towards him, as though he could read John's mind. John knew that was impossible and that Sherlock was just reading his body language, but the thought still crossed his mind every time that sort of thing happened.. Angelo would be the one who would clear everything away, John reasoned. Sherlock gave John a probing look and opened his mouth to say something, but John put a hand up to stop him.

"You don't have to ask. It's over. On good terms."

He added the last phrase after Sherlock gave him a dubious look. It didn't seem to erase any of the tall man's doubts.

"She asked me to make sure we remained in touch because I was a good friend. She also didn't fire me. I'd say those are good terms Sherlock."

Sherlock simply shrugged, which John took to mean something along the lines of 'whatever'. It was at that moment that Sherlock caught sight of a cab approaching and threw out an arm to hail it down. That man seemed to have so much luck when it came to finding cabs. Every time he needed one, there would always be one appear. On more than one occasion John had found himself wondering if it had something to do with Mycroft, but dismissed the idea. Surely Mycroft had better things to do with his time, and the time of his employees, than to make sure his little brother always got a cab when he wanted one. John followed Sherlock into the rear of the cab, which was quickly directed to Baker Street. John felt torn between the desire to be as close to Sherlock as possible and the feeling that he should keep his distance out of respect to Sarah. Unwilling to let Sherlock put his arm around him, John settled for simply holding hands as they silently watched London go by.

John had half-expected Mrs. Hudson to be waiting to interrogate them about their night as soon as they arrived back at Baker Street. He knew that she would normally be in bed now, but he wouldn't put it past her to wait up just in case there was a bit of gossip to find out. Thankfully she must have gone to bed for she did not appear when John unlocked the door. Suddenly, John had a memory flash across his mind, of something that Mrs. Hudson had said when John had first come to visit the flat that he now called home. It had been a long time since John had been able to call anywhere home. _There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing it that is. _Had everyone been able to see this coming but him? The bedroom upstairs would still be needed of course, because John wasn't going to just jump headfirst into a full on relationship with Sherlock. Not this soon anyway. He needed to take things slowly, sort his feelings out and get things straight in his head. Heading into the kitchen, John moved to turn the kettle on, but was stopped by a fast moving Sherlock.

"Probably is best if you don't use that kettle right now."

John did not want to know why not, so he just accepted that was the case. He bid Sherlock a good night and headed up the stairs with the intention of going to bed. He took his shoes off and placed them at the end of the row, neatly lined up at the base of his bed. He was about to remove his sweater, when he recalled that Sherlock was still wearing the sweater that he had 'borrowed' from John. Sighing to himself, John walked back out the door and descended the stairs. If he did not go and retrieve the sweater now, it was more than likely that he would never see it again. It had been nearly six weeks since John had lent Sherlock a skinny yellow and black tie, and John had given up on it ever being returned. He was sure Sherlock must still have it, but John would never be able to find it himself in the organised chaos that was Sherlock's wardrobe. He also knew that he would have little chance of success at getting Sherlock to retrieve it for him. The tie was lost, it was time to give up John, he said to himself. But there was still time to save the sweater. Then, as soon as he had procured his stolen sweater from Sherlock, he would head up to his own room and go to bed. Brilliant plan John, he congratulated himself. Upon reaching the landing, John halted, somewhat puzzled. All the lights were out in the living room. There was no television, no laptop, no violin. Surely Sherlock would not have gone to bed so early. Yet the only light that John could see apart from that lighting the stairwell, was the light the was peeking out from underneath Sherlock's closed bedroom door. John hesitated momentarily, before knocking on the wooden door.

"Just come in John."

There was none of the usual irritation in Sherlock's voice, which was slightly bewildering. But that was not John's concern right now. Right now, John's concern was that he ensured the safe and immediate return of his sweater.

"You can have it back if you do something for me."

Typical Sherlock, John thought with a hint of annoyance. Knowing exactly why he was here and having the audacity to ask for a favour at the same time. What on earth was Sherlock going to ask him to do at nearly midnight? It had better not be something difficult, or dangerous, because John was going to refuse to do anything that was. After all, it was _his_ sweater that he was asking for. A sweater that Sherlock had taken without asking. Although his given reasons of stalling for time were rather adorable. Had John really just used the word adorable to describe something associated with Sherlock?

"What do you want me to do Sherlock?"

John tried very hard to keep any malicious note out of his voice and was glad to hear that he had been successful. He carefully observed Sherlock's expression so that he could detect anything suspicious. Okay Sherlock, let's find out what it is that you want me to do for you, John thought. What hoops am I jumping through tonight?

"Will you lie down with me for a little while? No need to talk, just lie there."

The request came completely out of left field. John had run dozens of scenarios through his head of what Sherlock might request and not one of them was anything close to this. The only emotion that he registered was shock.

"You want me to lie down next to you? That's what you want me to do for you?"

He could tell that the look on his face was one of incredulity. Sherlock's expression told him that he was completely serious and wasn't quite sure why John was doubting that.

"Yes. I thought it might be pleasant. Just for a few minutes."

Damn him to hell, he was wearing that hurt expression that he must know got John every time. Cursing the other man internally, John found himself lying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling wondering why he was doing this. He almost wished that there was a mirror on the ceiling, so that he could see what they looked like, dressed in similar sweaters whilst lying on a bed. John had to admit, that is was actually quite pleasant. They had lapsed into comfortable silence and John found himself feeling pleasantly drowzy. You can close you're eyes for a minute or two John, then it will be time to get up and go to your own room, he instructed himself. With the sweater, he added as an afterthought. The bed was warm and cozy. It smelled familiar. It was a smell that John knew that he liked but he couldn't figure out where he knew it from. This was nice, just lying here next to Sherlock. John's mind began to drift off, into that state halfway between asleep and awake. Why was he lying here again? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere else or doing something? John's final thoughts before drifting off to sleep was that there was nowhere that he would rather be.

When John awoke, he found himself in a state of mild confusion. He tried to absorb his surroundings as he tried to figure out where he was. It only took a few moments before he remember that he had ended up falling asleep on Sherlock's bed last night. Then he noticed that he was still fully clothed in the sweater and jeans that he had worn out to the park. A twinge of guilt stabbed through him, as he remembered how things had ended between himself and Sarah. He would have to call her later in the afternoon. She deserved a proper explanation after all that he had put her through in the past few months. Offer her the cliché of it not being about anything that she had or hadn't done, but being because of his own behaviour. John frowned. He was sure he had fallen asleep with the quilt underneath him, yet he was now unmistakably beneath it. Sherlock must have covered him with it some time after he had fallen asleep. John wondered if Sherlock had slept at all, or if he had just laid there all night next to him whilst he slept.

He could hear the television quietly playing in the living room. Judging by the program, John determined the time was somewhere between 8 and 9 in the morning. He dragged himself out of the bed and ensured that it was made up neatly on both sides before exiting out onto the landing. It was there that he came face to face with Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, good morning dear. Everything went well last night then I see."

There was that knowing smile again. It was clear that she thought that something far less innocent than falling asleep in the same bed had occurred. He wanted to point out that he was still wearing the previous nights clothes, until he realised that wouldn't necessarily support his argument. After all, if he and Sherlock had gotten up to something, it would be highly unlikely that John would be wearing pajamas. It would then follow that other than borrowing Sherlock's clothing, the only option available to John other than nudity would be to put on the same outfit until he had time to change. John knew which scenario he would be more likely to believe if he was in Mrs. Hudson's place. John contemplated how long it would take this set of rumours to filter through to the Metro. Worst case scenario was a matter of hours. By the end of the day, John was sure that everyone at the station would think that he and Sherlock had slept together. Great, the day could not get off to a better start.

"Yeah, for the most part. The play was cancelled, but Sherlock had organised a dinner. The evening was rather enjoyable on the whole."

He chose not to mention Sarah in his reply. Mrs. Hudson, the station, and the neighbours, did not need to know about him and Sarah.

"That's lovely dear. I was just coming up to give you the new kettle that Sherlock asked me to buy. I don't know what is wrong with the one you have, but he was quite insistent that I get a new one."

John hadn't even noticed the shiny metal object clutched in her hands.

'I'll take it into the kitchen. Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

He took the kettle out of the excited landlady's grip as she smiled appreciatively.

"It's no trouble love. Just remember though, I'm not your housekeeper."

With that, she turned and disappeared down the stairs. John made sure that he had a firm grip on the kettle before he opened the door to the kitchen.

"Just in time. I've made breakfast!"

John nearly dropped the kettle in astonishment when he saw the two plates of orange marmalade on toast in his friends hands.

"You made breakfast? You actually cooked?"

Sherlock nodded, his facial expression that of someone who was very pleased with themselves.

"Nothing fancy, but it is food. Edible food."

John smiled as he placed the kettle safely on the stove, before taking the plate that Sherlock was offering him. There was no room to eat on any of the tables, so they sat on the sofa instead. They ate in silence except for the crunching sound of the toast. When they had finished John had moved to clear the plates but Sherlock insisted that he just leave them perched on the side table for now. Settling himself back down onto the sofa, John had found himself naturally snuggling into Sherlock's chest. It was a familiar position except that this time John really thought about how pleasant he found it. He felt so secure and comfortable, with Sherlock's arm resting on his shoulder, listening to the steady heartbeat of the genius. On a compulsion, he looked up at Sherlock and found himself suddenly on the receiving end of an unexpected kiss. John returned the kiss with far more passion and desire than he had ever felt with Sarah. How could he have let himself miss out on this for so long? Sherlock stood up, bringing John with him. The tall man started to lead him towards the bedroom and at first he followed but then John hesitated, unsure if he really wanted to do this. He searched his mind, trying to find a reason why he shouldn't, but he couldn't come up with anything substantial. Fear of what others might react was the only thing that had a chance of stopping him. Stuff it, he finally said to himself. Everyone else is already going to think we've done it, might as well make it true. John allowed himself to be pulled into the bedroom before breaking free of Sherlock's grip. John would be in control of this situation. He smiled as he stared into those grey eyes, as he thought to himself that it was time for a new beginning.


End file.
